


Roses are red (and so is your face)

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward bonding, Cheese, Hanamaki has a weak constitution, Hanamaki never went to Seijou, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Profanity, Sharing a Bed, Vomiting, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matsukawa Issei is an average guy in his 20s who lives on his own: crappy apartment, crappy job. You know...the works. But one day he notices someone watching him on the train and then following him home. Who is this guy? What does he want?</p><p>But what he really wants to know is: where the hell are all these flowers coming from?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was loosely inspired by this post: http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/119718863257/submitted-au-235
> 
> This was not supposed to sprawl.

Well, the apartment sucks, but it's a place to live.

Matsukawa Issei gives the layout of his tiny new flat a bit of a frown. It isn't what he wanted, but it'll have to do. With his options being between moving back in with his parents — who don't know how knocking or personal space works — and using every yen in his savings to pay the key money for a scuzzy apartment in an even scuzzier part of Sendai, there really is no contest.

All of his worldly possessions are stowed away in a smattering of boxes piled on the only two pieces of furniture that he owns — a battered bedstead that he's had since he was twelve and a kotatsu he picked up at Ikea.

With a sigh, Matsukawa starts to unpack so he'll at least have a place to sleep for the night. Once the boxes containing his clothes and dishes are emptied, he folds the box ends inward and stacks the boxes along the back wall with the openings facing out. Once he is finished, he has a small tower of boxes three high and three wide, with the top row of boxes facing up. He takes a roll of duct tape and lashes them together as a makeshift cupboard and dresser.

Socks go into the top left box, underwear in the middle, and shoes in the right; the rest of the space is occupied by carefully folded garments. It isn't ideal, but it will do.

Finally, the only boxes left are of random personal effects that he doesn't need and bedding. Matsukawa dumps out the box with his only set of sheets and a reasonably warm quilt before sagging on top of the pile and closing his eyes.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep like this, but he doesn't complain until his bleary eyes open a few hours later. The faint light of sunset no longer trickles into the window, and after fumbling for his phone out of his pocket, he sees that it's nearly midnight.

 _Crap_ , Matsukawa thinks as he tosses his phone on the floor. He has approximately 1200 yen in his pocket to last until his next payday eight days from then, and there are exactly zero edible things in the flat at the moment aside from a small assortment of condiments his mother had insisted she didn't need.

His belly rumbles at the thought of food, but unless he wants to guzzle soy sauce (he doesn't, he really doesn't), Matsukawa resigns himself to sleeping on an empty stomach. He tugs the bedding into some semblance of order and buries himself under the covers after setting the alarm on his phone for seven.

When he awakens, Matsukawa is hungry enough to look longingly at a stray strip of cardboard before shaking his head and taking his box of toiletries and towels to the bathroom. After a flurry of unpacking, he takes a quick shower and dresses in his old Aobajousai warm-ups before taking off to the grocery store he had scouted out before moving in.

A thousand yen buys him a brick of tofu, a hefty bag of rice, and a few vegetables. He saves the other two hundred for an emergency. Back at his place, he prepares a skillet full of rice and tofu — enough for breakfast, his bento to take to work, and for dinner if he feels too lazy to cook again.

Work is, well . . . work. His job working the forklift at a cannery is hardly inspiring, but a paycheck is a paycheck, he thinks as he takes the train to his own neighborhood with his thankfully pre-purchased unlimited use yearly pass. The idea of walking through his sketchy neighborhood every day doesn't sit well with him.

As he traverses the kilometer from the train station to his apartment building, Matsukawa feels the itch of eyes on him. Unease creeps into his gut as he thrusts his hands into his pockets in an effort to look casual, but the sensation doesn't go away as he rounds the corner to his street.

When the hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle, Matsukawa rushes to a bench, pretending to tie his shoe as he glances left to right. A tall-ish strawberry blond man around his age is looking at him curiously, and he swears he saw the guy on his train only twenty minutes before.

This dude doesn't  _look_  like a mugger, Matsukawa thinks to himself, but just to be careful, he waits for this familiar stranger to pass by before resuming his trek home.

The incident on the street lingers in his mind long after he returns home and finishes his unpacking. Matsukawa wonders if he should change his route home from the station as he washes up the remnants of dinner, but he dismisses this as nothing but paranoia.

 

 

The following day is almost a carbon copy of the previous one, with a boring meal split into three and a long ride across the city. Work is once again work, but the train ride proves to be more interesting than usual.

In the far end of the car he's in, Matsukawa sees him. The guy with the strawberry blond hair is slouched in a seat, earbuds in his ears as he dully mashes at his phone's screen. The urge to shake the guy and demand to know his intention settles like an irrational cloud over him, but Matsukawa pushes it back in favor of carefully watching his suspect from the corner of his eye.

He loses his mark as the train drains of people, much to his annoyance, but it doesn't matter so long as Matsukawa keeps an eye out during the walk home. But soon, he realizes that the feeling of unease is slowly returning and that someone is most definitely watching him.

Gritting his teeth, he holds up his phone and turns on the selfie camera in the front so he can see behind him. Sure enough, Blondie is looking right at him with a strange expression Matsukawa doesn't care to categorize.

Okay, enough is enough.

Once he sees Blondie peek down at his phone, Matsukawa drops back until he is behind the guy. As Blondie's route continues on course for Matsukawa's building, he decides that this needs to stop. As the pedestrian traffic thins out, Matsukawa steps right behind Blondie and pushes him into a nearly alley.

"What the hell?" Matsukawa hisses through clenched teeth. "Why have you been following me?"

Blondie's eyes widen. "Huh?"

Matsukawa wrinkles his nose. "You followed me home yesterday, and today, I saw you staring at me. So, as I said, what the hell?"

Blinking, Blondie breaks out into laugher. "Oh my god, you are precious." His amusement spills out into the alley until tears sprout from his eyes. "You . . . you are so  _cute_ ," he wheezed. "I can't believe you thought —"

"Hey, asshole, it isn't funny!" Matsukawa growled, his heart rate still erratic from the tenseness of the situation. "Seriously, why were you following me?"

Blondie chortles. "We live in the same building, genius. And your factory is on the same street as my shop."

Blood rushes to Matsukawa's cheeks. "I, um . . . I'm not even going to pretend I'm not embarrassed right now," he says as his fists unclench around Blondie's shirt, which he now sees is for the bakery a block away from the cannery.

Shrugging, Blondie smiles and claps Matsukawa on the shoulder. "Must have freaked you out. I'm sorry you thought I was creeping. Truth is —" He averts his eyes. "— I just kind of thought you were kind of cute."

Matsukawa's face heats up. "You shouldn't say stuff like that to strangers. You're gonna get jumped in an alley."

They look at each other, and neither of them can stifle their laughter.

Blondie offers his hand. "Hanamaki."

"Matsukawa." He takes the proffered greeting and handshake. "Sorry to, um, slam you against the wall, Hanamaki-san."

Hanamaki grins as he pats Matsukawa's overly-stubbled jaw. "You can slam me into a wall anytime, Matsukawa-kun."

With that, Hanamaki saunters out of the alley, leaving a red-faced Matsukawa and a heavy trail of 'what the hell' in his wake.

 

 

The dish sponge takes the brunt of Matsukawa's pensive irritation as he mulls over the events from earlier that afternoon. He hadn't been  _wrong_  about Hanamaki following him; however, he isn't sure the truth is any better.

It's been a while anyone male has openly checked him out. The last time he can recall had been during a volleyball training camp in high school, resulting in an awkward fumble in a weight room after hours. But dating itself is a foreign concept for him these days, with his last steady relationship being in his third year of high school with the girl who tutored him in English.

Matsukawa can't help but chuckle at his train of thought. Their confrontation earlier had probably made Hanamaki think he has a shitty personality or an anger issue. That is one tree that he won't be barking up anytime soon.

Once the dishes are dried and put away, Matsukawa has the choice of either unpacking boxes of useless stuff or just going to bed. It's a little early — nine-thirty — but the former seems a more distasteful option so he burrows into bed.

His body has other ideas, apparently. With his mind too noisy and the room too quiet, Matsukawa finds himself staring holes in the ceiling.  _What if I run into him in the laundry room?_  he wonders over and over. The idea doesn't entirely displease him; after all, he hasn't got laid in a long time and Hanamaki is reasonably attractive, if not a bit of a twat. And the guy has a nice smile, and Matsukawa doesn't exactly hate the idea of those lips wrapped around his —

"Yeah, let's not go there," Matsukawa says to himself before anything irritating happens in response.

Grumbling, he pulls out his phone and flips through his messages. Oikawa had messaged him almost a week ago, but as it had reeked of romantic crisis, Matsukawa had abstained from answering it.

With nothing better to do, he thumbs out a reply to Oikawa's last message.

_> >Hey, you doing okay, man?_

The response is almost immediate.

_< <Of course, Mattsun! It was just a stupid thing, but Iwa-chan took care of it._

Sure he did, Matsukawa nearly replied. He can't help but shake his head as he thinks about his old friends from high school. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have been dating for fifteen years; the problem is that neither of them know it yet. He hasn't found any kind way of telling Oikawa that his string of failed romances have more to do with him hanging all over Iwaizumi than spending too much time playing a sport.

Matsukawa can't really blame any of Oikawa's ex-boyfriends and girlfriends for being jealous. Iwaizumi Hajime is 180 centimeters of solid muscle, gorgeous skin, and a smile that could slay a dragon. He'd be lying if he said he hasn't gawked at Iwaizumi's pleasing frame a time or thirty.

Amusement still lingering in his expression, Matsukawa replies:

_> >Sorry I didn't answer before. I've been moving and any spare fucks I have to give about anything else is in a box somewhere._

_< <Need any help? Iwa-chan and I can chip in if you want._

_> >Nah. I'm pretty much unpacked, so unless you want me to throw stuff back in boxes, I'll settle for you two buying me dinner._

_< <Of course! Let Oikawa-san take care of you, Mattsun. Tomorrow night?_

_> >Sounds good._

_< <We might even get you a house-warming present._

_> >I'll pass. The basket of dildos you got me for graduation put you on the no-gift list until you're fifty. Possibly longer._

_< <You wound me, Mattsun._

_> >Not nearly hard enough, it seems. The dick-shaped bruise on your ass went away way too fast._

_< <Rude!_

_> >Always._  
>> _Goodnight, Oikawa._

_< <Sweet dreams, Matsu-chan._

The conversation with Oikawa puts Matsukawa in a significantly lighter mood, and sleep is a little easier to come by. Perhaps the prospect of real food the next night gives him a reason to want tomorrow to come a little quicker as he burrows under the covers and drifts off.

It has nothing to do with the possibility of seeing a certain reddish blond goofball on the way home. Nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

Despite the extra sleep, the next day starts strange and stays that way. Matsukawa wakes up with his sheets bunched around his face, and he falls on the floor as he tries to extricate himself without strangling himself. Then he distracts himself with a dumb cat video on YouTube and burns some of his rice.

The last straw that makes him seriously give up on the day entirely is when he opens his door and almost steps on a red tulip.

"What the hell?" he mutters as he picks it up. Matsukawa twirls the bloom between his fingers as he examines it. It doesn't look like it's going to explode in his face, but given how his morning is starting out, he can't be too careful. It's just a flower. With a shrug, he inhales deeply.

His resulting sneeze echoes through the corridor, causing one of the petals to pop off and the guy three doors down to nearly spill his coffee and drop his morning newspaper. Cringing in embarrassment, Matsukawa bows to his neighbor and apologizes, which is brushed off with a shrug.

As he reddens, Matsukawa moves to put the flower back in his apartment and in some water, but a lead weight settles in his gut when he realizes which side of the door his keys are on. "Son of a bitch."

He glares at the flower as if it had caused all of his distress, even though he knows he had forgotten his keys far before he had opened the door. Grumbling, he takes off for work and thanks whatever gods of luck that haven't abandoned him today that he was at least wearing pants before getting locked out.

Still clutching the flower, Matsukawa regards it carefully before relenting and spending most of his remaining cash on a bottle of water to keep the flower alive. As the train truffles down the tracks, he wonders why he kept it. Chances are that it was dropped outside his door sheerly by accident, but the idea of it wilting in the hallway sits ill in his gut for reasons he doesn't completely understand.

So now he has a tulip missing a petal on the train, headed for his very sunless workplace. Outside the cannery, he finds a ledge inside an alcove behind the building. He stows the bottle there before heading inside to clock in.

He should have just stayed home.

After nearly losing a finger from a snapped cable on a cardboard bale, Matsukawa is picked up from the hospital by Oikawa and Iwaizumi after being treated for lacerations across his knuckles and fingers.

"What the hell, Mattsun?" Iwaizumi chides angrily as he almost shoves Oikawa into the backseat of his hatchback. "If you wanted to get off of work early, you could have at least pretended to be sick instead of this." He examines Matsukawa's hand. "How many stitches?"

"Five," Matsukawa answers wearily. He just desperately wants this day to be over. "We're still on for dinner, right?" he asks hopefully. At least that might go right.

Oikawa hugs Matsukawa from behind, seat and all, and says, "Wherever you want to go."

Once they are all full of cheeseburgers, Matsukawa asks hesitantly, "Can you, um, swing by the factory? I need to pick something up."

Iwaizumi nods, and pulls into the alley Matsukawa points out. A small smile tugs across his lips when he sees the tulip in the water bottle and no worse for wear. He grabs it and returns to the car.

Gaping at him, Iwaizumi raises a brow. "You came back for a flower?"

Matsukawa shrugs. "I didn't want the little guy to die. I found it outside my door this morning before I realized I locked myself out. I would've left it home otherwise."

"Ooh," Oikawa crows. "Does Matsu-chan have a girlfriend?"

Reddening, Matsukawa grumbles, "Shut up, Oikawa."

Oikawa squawks in indignation when Iwaizumi chimes, "Kind of cathartic, isn't it?"

"Feeling better already," Matsukawa replies with a broad smile.

They park in Matsukawa's unused space and head to the building supervisor's office to get let in. After showing his ID and signing paperwork, he, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi head upstairs to be let into the apartment.

Just like that morning, a red tulip sits outside the door, and Matsukawa glares at Oikawa when his friend starts so sing-song 'Mattsun has a girlfriend.' A soft punch from Iwaizumi puts a stop to that as the super unlocks the door.

Once inside, both Oikawa and Iwaizumi look around. "Dude, where's the rest of your stuff?" Iwaizumi asks with a frown. "If you need some furniture, I think my mom has some extra stuff in the attic."

“It doesn’t matter,” Matsukawa mutters as he gives his cardboard wardrobe a glance and a frown. “It’s a roof and it’s paid for. Luxuries come later.”

Iwaizumi gives him a dubious look but doesn’t comment further. Unlike his best friend/boyfriend he doesn’t realize is his boyfriend, Iwaizumi has an uncanny knack for knowing when to talk and when not to.

Oikawa has no such compunctions, however. “You really know how to use a box to its maximum potential, Mattsun. Channeling your inner Oikawa-san, I see.” The resulting smirk is met with an elbow to the ribs from Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa just chuckles and shakes his head. “Just a different kind of recycling.” He looks at the flower in one hand and the makeshift vase in his other and colors. Tucking the new one into the mouth of the bottle with the first one, he says sheepishly, “Um, I’m going to put these in the window.”

When he looks over at Oikawa and Iwaizumi, the former looks fit to burst and the latter not far behind as they eyeball the tulips. “Yeah, I don’t know who’s leaving them. I thought the first one was an accident, but the second one kind of shoots that idea down.”

Sighing, Oikawa gives him a too-bright smile. “Are you _sure_ you don’t know?”

Matsukawa’s eyes narrow. “Are you saying _you_ do?”

“Shut up, asshole,” Iwaizumi hisses at Oikawa. “If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan!”

This draws a chortle out of Matsukawa. “You guys want anything to drink? I have water and, um, water.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I’m good. We need to get going anyway. Takeru’s staying the night so Oikawa’s sister can go out for a date night.”

“Have fun babysitting. Don’t let the kid burn the house down.”

Oikawa huffs. “My nephew would never do something like that.” He casts a sideways glance at Iwaizumi. “Would he?”

Raising a brow, Iwaizumi observes, “How well did _you_ do on your own at home when you were fourteen?”

Eyes wide, Oikawa shakes Matsukawa’s good hand violently and says far too quickly, “It was nice to catch up, Mattsun! See ya!” With that, he drags Iwaizumi out of the apartment, leaving an almost disturbing level of quiet.

Alone with his thoughts, Matsukawa sits on his bed idly trawling social media, but his gaze in frequently redirected towards the two red tulips and all the questions they bring. Who left them? Will there be another one in the morning? Is there another one out there now? But really, who the actual fuck is leaving them?

Curious, he Googles red tulips and if they have any significance. He wilts in embarrassment when he sees the listing: passion and true love. Whoever is leaving them either has no idea of the flowers’ significance or is a complete stranger in love with him. The latter option is a little discomfiting, he admits to himself as he wanders over to the window to stroke the silken petals.

He wonders what it would be like for someone to be in love with him. In the course of his life, he’s dated, kissed, had sex, and felt the contentment that comes with sitting on the couch with someone slouched under his arm. A few of these things, he’s done with girls, and some of them with guys. He likes to think the idea of love transcends things like gender.

But in all of his romantic dealings, Matsukawa tries to think of a time when he’s been loved or in love, and the list comes up short. It’s not something he’s particularly missed, but he can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have someone happy to see him or talk to him every day. Someone who buys him a flower here and there just because.

For a moment, he considers the idea that the flowers are being left on the wrong doorstep, and for another moment, he contemplates throwing them out the window.

Sleep comes slowly and fitfully that night as Matsukawa’s brain noisily turns over many things, and most of them whirled pointedly around those damned tulips.

 

 

Because of his injury, the next day at work is light duty, which consists of shredding outdated paperwork for eight hours. Matsukawa darkly thinks he is more likely to maim himself by falling asleep out of boredom and letting his hand drift into the gnashing teeth of the shredder.

But one thing is different; there is no flower this morning. Instead, there’s a note, written in the most disastrously written kanji Matsukawa has ever seen.

_So, have you figured it out yet?_

Matsukawa spends the entire train ride to work and much of his dull day in the back office mulling over this strange question. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to ‘get,’ but it irks him that he has to be missing something in this whole exchange of flowers and notes. While not a genius by any standard, he doesn’t like feeling so clueless.

This thought propels him to do something completely reckless. As soon as he boards the train, Matsukawa immediately seeks out Hanamaki.

His target is frowning at his phone, but when Matsukawa heavily sits in the seat next to him, Hanamaki’s face melts into a grin. “Matsukawa-kun, how nice to see you! I missed you yesterday.”

Holding up his maimed hand, Matsukawa smiles wryly. “Accident at work. I ended up at the hospital, and some friends came to pick me up.”

Hanamaki’s eyes bulge. “Holy crap, are you okay?”

“Just a few stitches.” Matsukawa shrugs. “I’ll live. My friends bought me pity dinner, and it was amazing. The company was good, too.”

Gently grabbing Matsukawa’s bandaged hand, Hanamaki looks it over before gently stroking the back of his knuckles. “How’d you do this? You don’t strike me as the careless type.”

“A wire snapped on a bale of cardboard.” Matsukawa frowns at the wound. “At least it didn’t hit me in the face. That would’ve sucked.”

Nodding solemnly, Hanamaki says, “Yeah. Though you’d look sexy as hell with a pirate eyepatch.”

“God, you’re weird.”

They sit in easy silence, with Matsukawa feeling less uncomfortable with Hanamaki’s casual flirtation than he thought he would be. There is something earnest in Hanamaki’s tone as he says these awkward things that makes Matsukawa believe Hanamaki truly finds him attractive.

“You wanna get coffee after we get off at the station?” Hanamaki interjects out of the blue.

“Huh?” Matsukawa can barely process the request before Hanamaki repeats it. “Oh, um . . .” His cheeks turn pink. “I can’t. I —” He tears through a dozen different excuses before settling on the truth. “I’m kind of broke right now.”

Hanamaki shrugs. “That’s fine. My treat.”

Matsukawa opens his mouth to politely refuse, but his jaw snaps shut when he realizes he doesn’t want to. Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s visit the day before had been a stiff reminder of how utterly lonely his life has been, and Hanamaki’s outrageous flirting is kind of nice.

“Sure,” he says as his mouth curls into a half-smile. “But next time is on me, yeah?”

“You got it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Matsukawa is more nervous than he thought he would be as he steps off the train alongside Hanamaki. He is still new to the neighborhood, so he allows Hanamaki to lead the way. It only takes half a block for him to consider that this might be a terrible idea.

The truth is that he doesn't know Hanamaki at all, other than where he works and that he is a shameless flirt. But either of these can be an act. For all he knows, the real bakery employee is rotting in some basement as rat chow. Or worse. And he could be next.

Then again, maybe Hanamaki really is just an admittedly adorable baker with a crush on him.

As they stroll along the bustling sidewalk, Hanamaki chatters animatedly about some new cream puff he has concocted. Matsukawa prefers savory foods over sweets, but raining on the guy's enthusiasm is not nearly as enjoyable as watching him gesticulate about pastry.

They almost collide when Hanamaki stops short. "By the way," he says with a broad smile, "I'm taking us the long way so we stay on busy streets. I know I freaked you out the other day. I don't like the idea of you thinking I'm a psycho with a murder dungeon or something."

Matsukawa coughs painfully at how close this had come to his paranoid musings just minutes before. "Didn't give it a second thought," he lies. "Besides, if you are some kind of cannibal, I'm too skinny to eat."

Hanamaki harrumphs. "I would sell a kidney to have legs like yours. I kind of want to bite one, and I would totally eat you up, but nothing that won't grow back."

"Do you seriously have that little working knowledge of basic anatomy?" Matsukawa snorts at the thought.

Wagging his brows, Hanamaki coos, "It's not my fault you're so cute that you make me say stupid things."

Shaking his head, Matsukawa can't help but smile. "Nah, I'm pretty sure that's all your fault for having terrible taste."

Something clouds in Hanamaki’s eyes, but it disappears so quickly that Matsukawa thinks he imagined it. This is a first for him, having a conversation about eating people (specifically, himself), but it’s strangely refreshing. It’s like drinking with Iwaizumi and Oikawa without being the awkward third wheel.

The only way to extend this new sensation is to feed it until it blooms, so Matsukawa asks, “So, since you live in the same building, which floor are you on?”

“Third,” Hanamaki answers. “First door on the right.”

Matsukawa’s brows raise. “Really? I’m on the third floor, too. Last one on the left.”

“You don’t say?” Hanamaki smirks at him. “I must have missed you and that bulldog-looking dude swearing up a storm while dragging a bed up the stairs.”

“You heard that?” Matsukawa chuckles at the memory of his ex-teammate, Kyoutani, banging his elbow on the doorframe and letting loose the filthiest string of expletives Matsukawa’s ever heard. “He’s salty, but he’s an okay guy. Also the only person I know who owns a truck.”

They arrive at the coffee shop, aptly named Joe’s, before Hanamaki can reply. The smell of coffee beans wafts through the propped open door, and Matsukawa chuckles at the bad joke chalked in English onto the sandwich board right outside. _Thanks a latte!_

“That is terrible,” he mutters to himself.

Hanamaki turns around and looks at it. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s hard to . . . forget it.” He drinks in Hanamaki’s pout. “You probably should have paid attention in English class.”

“Oh, I paid attention. Just not to the teacher.” Hanamaki looks up at the sky and shakes his fist. “Guy two seats in front of me, why were you so hot?”

Matsukawa laughs. “You are a weird dude, Hanamaki.”

“What can I say?” Hanamaki shrugs but throws a wink at Matsukawa. “I like cuties. I’m just glad you didn’t tell me to get lost. It’s kind of embarrassing when you hit on a straight guy and he goes out of his way to show you how uninterested he is.”

They get to the cashier and place their orders, but Matsukawa has difficulty concentrating on the constant questions as he regards Hanamaki. By the time Hanamaki pays, Matsukawa isn’t even sure what he ordered.

There is a table with two stools in the corner, and Matsukawa instinctively drifts towards it. Once they’re settled in across from each other, Hanamaki gives him a knowing look. “You got a mocha cappuccino, by the way.”

“How did you —” His eyes narrow. “I didn’t do that thing where I was thinking but it wasn’t in my head, was I?”

Hanamaki chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah. You just acted like she wasn’t speaking Japanese or something. Care to share where you were just then?”

 _No_ , Matsukawa thinks but makes a point of not saying out loud. Instead, he holds up his injured right hand, and the lie comes rather easily. “I was wondering how much luck I’m going to have holding onto a coffee cup with this stupid splint. I hope they have handles.”

Resting his chin in his hands, Hanamaki leans towards Matsukawa. “You are a terrible liar, but I’ll take a hint.” He leans back in his chair. “If you don’t want to see me again, all you have to do is say so. I can wait for a later train.”

Matsukawa’s eyes shoot open. “What — no!” His cheeks pinken. “That’s not what I was thinking, so don’t think I’m like that or that I’m not your, um, type. I guess.” He glares at his hands awkwardly lying on the table. “I just wondered about you in general. I was thinking before that I don’t know you that well.”

Hanamaki gives him a toothy smile. Their coffee arrives — thankfully, in mugs — and Matsukawa sees Hanamaki watching him over the brim of his cup.

“So, what made you want to work at a bakery,” he blurts out of the blue. “You talk about pastries like they’re your children.”

“They are!” Hanamaki replies, his voice higher than normal. “Both of them are small, fragile, and the fruits of my loins!”

With a scoff, Matsukawa jibes, “If I find any loin fruit in my cupcakes, I’m suing. Just so we’re clear.”

“Not a swallower, then?”

The coffee in Matsukawa’s mouth is projected back into the cup at full force. “What the hell? Why would you even say that? Gross, dude.”

Hanamaki blanches. “I, um, don’t know why I said that.” He scratches the back of his head. “I guess I thought that since you didn’t brush me off, that you were . . .”

Matsukawa knows exactly what Hanamaki had thought, because it is what he wanted him to think. And he knows exactly what painfully embarrassing boat Hanamaki is in now. Instead of making things weirder than they already are, Matsukawa decides to play it lightly. “Interested in bodily fluids in my food? Yeah, not so much. Unless your dick is made of cheese, then we might have to revisit this discussion.”

A couple at a nearby table turns and gives them a disgusted look, and neither of them can contain their amusement. There aren’t many people in the coffee shop not staring at them now.

“You’re pretty funny,” Hanamaki says when he looks like he can actually breathe again. “Can I have your number?”

“Sure.” They exchange phones and enter their contact information. When he gets his phone back, Matsukawa can’t help but chortle at the weird little emoji by Hanamaki’s name, or the presence of a given name. Aloud, he murmurs, “Takahiro.”

Hanamaki chimes, “Yes, _Issei_. That’s my name. Not as cute as yours, but I think I can be adorable if I try.”

Matsukawa doesn’t think he can disagree with that statement.

After exchanging contact information, Matsukawa sips at his coffee as he watches his counterpart and enjoys the flavor of whatever Hanamaki had arranged for him to get (he’s already forgotten).

There is something about the other man that doesn't sit right with him, and he struggles to put a name to it. He can't even assign a reason for it. Hanamaki is friendly, humorous, and a good-looking guy; whatever hang-ups Matsukawa has rest solely on his own shoulders.

It doesn't take long for them to both drain their cups, but they sit there and chatter afterwards. Hanamaki talks about his boss lady, who is apparently solid evil for someone who is in the sweets business, and Matsukawa gives a play-by-play of his work accident. It isn't until the little shop is grossly crowded with the after-work rush that they share a look and head for the exit.

As they head towards their building, Matsukawa decides that there is something he needs to say. "Thank you for this. It was nice to just hang out, you know?"

Hanamaki quirks a smile. "It's nice to find a straight guy who doesn't mind me hitting on him a bit. It's all in good fun, I hope you know that."

This makes Matsukawa frown. He had been sure he had left the proper signals. "Did I say that?" Scratching his head, he asks, "Did I say I was straight?"

"Um, now that you mention it . . ." Hanamaki's grin is blinding. "The gods really do love me." He bumps his shoulder against Matsukawa’s.

“You never asked,” Matsukawa starts. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you without just spilling it out and feeling like a tool.” When Hanamaki gives him a slight nod, he continues, “I like both. Or everything. I don’t really think about it that much. If I like someone, I’m attracted to them no matter who or what they are.”

“Hmm, so pan then?”

“Basically.” Matsukawa shrugs. “My first time was with a guy from volleyball camp, and my first relationship was with a girl. Since I figured that out, I’m not really too fussed about labels. If they make me happy and I make them happy, then what is there to worry about?”

Matsukawa tries to think of the last time he’s been so open and blunt about his sexuality, and he can’t think of a single instance. Not even with Iwaizumi and Oikawa, who he generally considers to be his best friends. But even with the slight off feeling he’s getting from Hanamaki, Matsukawa can’t stop words spilling form his mouth of their own accord.

However, at this, Hanamaki stops walking in the middle of a bustling crosswalk and faces Matsukawa. “ _You_ need to stop being so perfect, or I’m gonna punch you in your pretty face.”

“Shut up, Hanamaki.” Matsukawa takes the other man’s hand in his own. “You know you like it.”

Hanamaki doesn’t speak the rest of the walk back to their building, and Matsukawa relishes the silence with a lazy smile clinging to his lips.

After the climb to the third floor, Matsukawa pauses in front of Hanamaki’s door, unsure of how he should proceed. Hanamaki had admitted to flirting with him, but Matsukawa isn’t sure if that’s a part of the guy’s personality or if he is earnestly interested.

Matsukawa thinks that he wants to find out.

Without preamble, he tugs Hanamaki by the hips until they’re chest to chest and feathers a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for coffee and for hanging out.”

Hanamaki blinks at him before touching his fingertips to his lips. “Any time, Matsukawa-kun.”

The wonder on Hanamaki’s face makes something twist in Matsukawa’s belly as he walks backwards towards his own door. He doesn’t turn around until he gets to drink in the sight of Hanamaki fumbling his keys with shaking hands.

As he struggles with his own keys because of his heavily bandaged hand, Matsukawa almost misses the pair of red flowers sitting on his doorstep yet again. “Hello again.”

Yet again, two red tulips linger on his doorstep. A little peaked, probably from lack of water and light for most of the day, but he quickly adds them to the drinking glass that now houses the previous two. The note left that morning sits on the sill next to the flowers.

He’s beginning to have an idea who is leaving the blooms at his door. It has to be Hanamaki. Only residents have the key to the front door, and as far as he knows, the only neighbor he’s exchanged a single word with is the extremely flirtatious man he had just kissed on sheer impulse.

With a lingering smile, he inhales their gentle scent  once again.

 

 

The next morning, Hanamaki is waiting for him outside his door, holding a bag with his shop’s logo printed on it. “I’ve got breakfast.”

Matsukawa quirks a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?”

Hanamaki flashes a toothy smile as he shakes his head. “Day off. I just figured we could hang out on your train ride.”

“Sure,” Matsukawa says as he accepts the bag. Opening it, he sees a cream puff, a cherry fritter, and a couple of Bismarcks. “Are you trying to fatten me up so you can eat me in your serial killer basement?”

“You’d look good with love handles.” Hanamaki reaches out and gives Matsukawa’s hip bone a squeeze. “Or without. Whatever. Just never stop being adorable, and I don’t care what kind of hips you have.”

Matsukawa’s chuckle is muffled by a mouthful of pastry. He locks his door and lets Hanamaki lead the way as he wolfs down the rest. His meal supplies are running low, so he had eaten a very small breakfast.

It isn’t until he’s headed down the stairwell that he remembers he didn’t look for a flower this morning. He shrugs it off because it would be strange for Hanamaki to leave a flower when he’s there to give it in person. And donuts. The donuts are better anyway.

Once he’s finished his second breakfast, Matsukawa decides to snake a hand in Hanamaki’s to test the waters. His companion doesn’t flinch or jerk away; instead, he rubs a thumb inside Matsukawa’s palm.

Matsukawa almost slams face-first into a noodle cart.

The train is crowded, so Hanamaki and Matsukawa sit close enough to practically be sitting on each other’s laps, but the flow of inane conversation sprinkled with ridiculous flirting makes the ride go far more quickly than usual.

Hanamaki insists on walking him to the factory, and Matsukawa doesn’t mind at all. A few of his coworkers’ eyes widen in surprise when they see him arrive with Hanamaki, but Matsukawa merely gives them friendly waves as they pass by.

At the door, Matsukawa notices that Hanamaki’s expression is uncharacteristically tight. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” The false cheer and paper smile make Matsukawa want to wince. “Have a good day at work, Matsukawa-kun. And don’t chop anything off today.”

Matsukawa slaps Hanamaki on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m not cheating you out of anything you’re saving for your murder dungeon buffet.”

Hanamaki pecks him on the cheek. “So considerate.”

They part ways, and as Matsukawa turns over this odd little exchange in his head all day, he nearly feeds his hand into the paper shredder and breaks his promise.

During his lunch, he checks his phone and sees a series of ridiculous picture messages. Sad Hanamaki alone on the train. Sad Hanamaki crawling up the apartment stairs (Matsukawa still doesn’t know how he took that picture). Sad Hanamaki sitting at Matsukawa’s door like a lost dog.

He can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Hey, Matsukawa, you’re in a good mood,” remarks Fukushiro, the other forklift driver. “They letting you off light duty?”

“Nah,” he answers. Cryptically, he adds, “Just texts from someone I’m sort of seeing.”

Fukushiro’s eyes light up. “Oh, what’s she like? Is she cute?”

Deciding to overlook the bald assumption, Matsukawa shrugs. “Cute is one word. Major dork. Mouthy. Never short on pastry.”

A pair of chopsticks wave in front of Matsukawa’s face. “Marry that girl. Or you’ll end up like me, eating broccoli and seaweed forever.” Fukushiro sighs heavily. “I miss junk food so much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matsukawa says before occupying his mouth with his lunch. He misses junk food, too, and can’t wait to be able to afford it again.

The rest of the day passes at a snail’s pace, both because Matsukawa’s only source of amusement are his boss’s frequent reminder that he is not allowed to read the documents he’s shredding, and recalling how nice it had been to take the train with Hanamaki that morning. Usually, Matsukawa’s train leaves two hours after Hanamaki is already at work.

When he leaves for the day, Matsukawa is in for another surprise. Hanamaki is leaning against the wall next to the exit doors with a smug smile. “Miss me?”

“How can I? You’re always here,” Matsukawa teases, a little curious but more relieved that his ride home might be equally enjoyable.

Hanamaki grabs his hand. “I’m taking you out to dinner. There’s an American place nearby, and I remember you said you like cheese. They put cheese on _everything_.”

“I know the place,” Matsukawa says blankly, brow furrowing as he watches Hanamaki’s too-bright smile. If he didn’t already think something was off about his neighbor, he does now. “What’s with you today? You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a year.”

"I've been bored  _all day._ So I figured I'd come pick you up and we could hang out."

Matsukawa frowns. "I'd love to, but I really can't afford it."

Hanamaki waves off his concerns. "Just so we're clear, if I ever ask you anywhere, it's under the assumption that I will pay if you can't." Elbowing Matsukawa in the side, he adds, "That's what friends are for, right?"

By this point, it feels disrespectful not to agree, so Matsukawa shrugs. "Okay. You ever had American food?" When Hanamaki shakes his head, he can't help but smirk. "I hope you don't get heartburn."

 

 

"Oh, God, my chest feels like it's on fire. What sort of demons do they cook into biscuits and gravy, anyway?"

Matsukawa snorts. "Say one word against sausage in my presence and I'll never speak to you again. I may  _like_  you, but I  _love_  sausage gravy."

"What the hell is your stomach made of, adamantium?" Hanamaki bends over and wheezes between his knees. "Is this heartburn?"

"The one and only. Just be happy you don't have acid reflux. That just gets uncomfortable." He loops an arm around Hanamaki's quaking shoulders. "C'mon. Let's go get you some mints."

Hanamaki's griping and groaning grow louder until they start to draw attention. Fortunately, there is a 200 yen store right around the corner, and they carry the pale, chalky mints that Hanamaki needs. The mints quickly appease Hanamaki's suffering, which fizzles down to dull complaining by the time they make it to the train station.

As the significantly more empty train rolls towards their usual stop, Matsukawa tucks Hanamaki's slumped form into his side and holds him up in the seat. He's pretty sure nobody is this debilitated by heartburn and that Hanamaki is probably milking it, but he doesn't mind. It feels nice to be needed for something other than work.

When they make it up the stairs, Matsukawa sees another tulip on this doorstep and smiles. Hanamaki had probably planned something far smoother than his stomach betraying him, but it doesn't matter. He picks up the bloom with his bad hand and opens the door with the other. Hanamaki stumbles in behind him, and Matsukawa guides him straight to the bed with the bag of mints in hand. "Just take it easy for a while. You can stay as long as you want."

Hanamaki mutters something past his mouthful of mints, but Matsukawa just enjoys his inflated distress. "I tried to tell you not to go back for thirds and to eat some vegetables in between."

"Stop talking about food, you crazy asshole. How are you still alive?"

Instead of answering, he shoves Hanamaki over to one side of the bed and burrows under the covers next to him. "I love carbohydrates so much. You don't even know. Bread, noodles, biscuits, all of it. Cover it in cheese, and I might actually die of happiness."

"Fuck you, Mattsun. Now you're just being mean." Despite his words, Hanamaki snuggles under Matsukawa's arm and is asleep in minutes.

Warmth leeches into Matsukawa's limbs through his clothes, laying a soporific cloak over the both of them, and soon he is as dead to the world as the slightly drooling man next to him. And it feels all right.

Matsukawa is awakened by Hanamaki insistently shaking his shoulder. "Dude, why did you let me sleep like that?"

"Feeling better?" Matsukawa grumbles as he grinds the slumber from his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Actually, yeah," Hanamaki says as he glares at his feet. "You let me sleep in my shoes?"

Kicking a still-shod foot from beneath the blanket, Matsukawa says, “Well, I didn’t take mine off, either. I believe in equality. And laziness. Especially after an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

Hanamaki hauls him out of bed. “It’s almost midnight! It’s going to be almost impossible to go back to sleep now.”

Matsukawa harrumphs. “I’m not too bothered. I don’t work tomorrow.”

“I do!” Hanamaki hops on one foot as he wrangles his shoes off. “Not that I didn’t enjoy some quality cuddle time with you, but —oh, shit!”

It’s impossible not to burst into laughter as Hanamaki tumbles to the floor. Matsukawa gently plucks off Hanamaki’s shoes for him and helps him up. “So, um, what time do you have to get up?”

Hanamaki frowns. “Four.”

“If you want to stay, I’ll set an alarm.” Matsukawa blushes at this. He’s never asked someone to stay over before in a non-platonic way, but Hanamaki is warm and thoroughly cuddly. “When you get off, if you’re interested, I could invite over a couple friends of mine and you can settle something once and for all for me.”

“Oh?” Hanamaki raises a brow.

“That they’re both so incredibly in love with each other that literally everyone knows it but them.” Matsukawa spies the flower he had picked up when they had returned earlier, limply sagging into the kotatsu. He gently lifts it and puts it in the water cup with the rest. “I would hate to be that desperately clueless.”

He almost jumps when he feels rather than sees Hanamaki beside him. “What’s with the flowers?”

Matsukawa huffs. “Like you don’t know.” He looks over at Hanamaki to catch him in his faux coyness, but he doesn’t expect the grim expression on that usually jolly face. “What?”

“You thought I was leaving those?” When Matsukawa nods, Hanamaki’s fists visibly clench. “Is there anyone else in the building who you know?”

Surprised by the question, Matsukawa takes his time to ponder the answer before saying honestly, “Not really. I sneezed in the hallway and almost made the guy two doors down dump his coffee on himself. That’s about it.”

Hanamaki’s frown is still firmly entrenched as he says, “Well, be careful. It isn’t always a good thing when someone knows you but you don’t know them.”

“Look who’s talking,” Matsukawa fires. “You practically stalked me until I was fully ready to beat your ass in an alley. It was just a coincidence that you’re cute and I kind of like you.”

“It’s not the same.”

Matsukawa turns the full force of his gaze at Hanamaki. “Please, do tell me, how is it not the same?”

Hanamaki looks like he wants to say something, but he merely bites his lip and looks away. “Forget it,” he grumbles as he pulls off his trousers, leaving him in just a T-shirt and boxers. “So, is the offer still good for me to stay?”

It isn’t until this moment that Matsukawa considers the idea that Hanamaki has very nice legs. Or that his tee clings to the muscles of his arms and chest. Or that his shoulders are broad and hips narrow.

In the dim light filtering from the street lamps outside, he is noticing it now.

With a gulp, Matsukawa says, “Sure.”

More embarrassed about the prospect of sharing a bed with Hanamaki than he had been minutes ago, Matsukawa shucks his own trousers and button-up work shirt until he’s in his plain white undershirt and boxer briefs.

He is too busy trying not to stare at Hanamaki to notice that Hanamaki is very much staring at him as they settle back into bed. However, even as he hears Hanamaki’s breath even out, Matsukawa is finding it very hard to ignore the faint brush of Hanamaki’s body against his own. It’s over an hour before he manages to find some sleep of his own.

 

 

He doesn’t remember his alarm going off, but when Matsukawa wakes up, Hanamaki is gone and the sun is just beginning to rise. His phone says it’s half past six, and his sleep-logged limbs urge him to go back to sleep, but his brain says it’s time to get up.

Wearily, Matsukawa stumbles out of bed and into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He briefly considers showering before brushing that idea aside as far too much effort. It takes nearly an hour for him to finish his morning ablutions and to sit down at the kotatsu to eat some of what he had set aside for dinner the night before.

The more he thinks about the rich, flavorful meal he had last eaten, the more he resents the blandness of the food in front of him. Scarfing a good bit of it down to stave off his protesting stomach, Matsukawa decides that he really wants a melon soda and that the use of his last eighty yen in the vending machine a stone’s throw away from the building is the exact sort of emergency he has saved his pocket change for. Anything to change up the stale flavor of yesterday’s rice from his mouth.

He finds a pair of jeans and a hoodie before grabbing his keys and his change and heading out. There’s another tulip.

Matsukawa picks up the flower, but this time with Hanamaki’s warning clamoring in his head. With less care than he usually takes with his mystery gifts, he tosses the flower inside on the kotatsu before locking his door behind him and heading out the front of the building.

Halfway down the block, Matsukawa doesn’t see the hands that drag him into an alley until one of them is jamming a cloth over his mouth. Until everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might go for an extra chapter or two, but eep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Matsukawa's eyes crack open, all he can acknowledge is the darkness in the room and the murderous throbbing in his head. After a few minutes, other things begin to trickle into focus.

He and Hanamaki had spent the night together. Breakfast happened. Then . . . soda? His eyes bulge when he finally remembers the walk to the vending machine he never reached, being grabbed from behind. And here he is, in a dark place that smells like must and spoiled vegetables. And tied to a chair.

"Well, this is just fantastic," he mutters as he tugs at the bonds behind his back. There was not so much as a millimeter of give. "Damn."

As his vision begins adjusting to the darkness, Matsukawa can discern shapes in the far reaches of the room. Ropes and chains dangle from the ceiling, and hulking masses of fabrics are draped over equally large objects. Not far from him is a silver table that looks like something straight out of a horror movie.

He sighs in irritation. "Hanamaki, if that's you, it's not funny. I never thought you were  _actually_  a serial killer. It was a joke. Unlike this, which is completely unfunny."

"Still haven't figured it out?" a voice that is most certainly  _not_  Hanamaki's calls from the blackness of the room.

Matsukawa’s head whipped towards the unfamiliar voice. "Who the hell are you?"

“Like she hasn’t told you,” New Guy scoffs. “Or maybe you’re both lying bitches.”

Rolling his eyes, Matsukawa says, “You know, if this woman — whoever she is — is angry with you, you might want to consider the idea that calling her a bitch might have something to do with it. Jackass.”

A hand roughly collides with his cheek, and Matsukawa can taste blood. “Ow,” he hisses. “What the actual fuck, man? Who are you?”

It occurs to Matsukawa that he should be scared of this crazy person, who he’s mentally dubbed Angry Guy, but at the moment, all he can feel is irritation and a strong desire to chuck this guy face-first into a well of razor blades. And he thinks that this probably won’t be the last time he mouths off to this psychopath.

“Oh, and while we’re at it —” And there it goes. “— who is _she_ supposed to be? If we’re conspiring and all, I hope she’s hot.”

This time, Matsukawa sees the fist careening towards this jaw and manages to tilt his head out of the way, leaving just a glancing blow. The near-miss brings a roar of frustration from his captor. “Just tell me where she is!”

“I don’t _know_ , you raving lunatic!” Matsukawa shakes his head, in disbelief that he is in this utterly absurd situation. “How about, instead of acting like a D-list anime villain, you just tell me who ‘she’ is, who _you_ are, and why the hell you think I have anything to do with either of you.”

Angry Guy makes a strangled sound before growling, “Kimiko is _mine_. I don’t care if you’re living with her. She loves my roses enough to keep them, and she still loves _me_.”

 As the pieces slowly begin to fall into place, Matsukawa lolls his head back and groans. _Great. Just freakin’ great._ His day off is being completely monopolized by this whackjob whose girlfriend left him, probably for this very reason.

But this is a misunderstanding, and Matsukawa thinks that if he pushes the right buttons, he might just walk out of this with only a bloody lip and a wasted day. “I knew a Kimiko in high school,” he lies. “Sweet girl. She was really cute, too. Nice hair, great legs, and round in all the right places.” He hears a sigh and knows he’s on the right track. “Your Kimiko anything like that?”

“Why would she leave me?” Angry Guy whines. “I gave her everything. I took care of her dog. I cleaned her apartment. I bought her a _car_ , man!”

"Because you don't know the difference between roses and tulips, maybe," Matsukawa mutters. He wants to kick himself for provoking Angry Guy further, but his captor gives no indication that he heard the outburst. Louder, Matsukawa comments, "Girls are weird, dude. That's why I'm dating a guy." He silently hopes that Hanamaki will forgive him, circumstances given, for pasting such a bald assumption on their strange little relationship.

Hanamaki. When he comes home from work and Matsukawa doesn't answer the door, what will he think? Will he believe that Matsukawa isn't answering on purpose, that he doesn't want to see him? Will he shrug it off and forget about his flirtation with his neighbor? As awful as the idea of Hanamaki not caring if they saw each other again is, Matsukawa feels his throat constrict at the mere thought of making Hanamaki worry about him. No one has ever worried about him except his mom, and the guy has only known him for a week.

With that, Matsukawa settles on a plan of action.

“Hey, I get it, dude, I really do,” he says tentatively. “You really care about Kimiko, and it doesn’t seem like she is returning the favor. How about I do you a solid and tell you what I _do_ know.”

A light flickers on, its brightness burning Matsukawa’s eyes and making his already throbbing brain ache even more, but he adjusts and regards his jailer closely.

For as much as he completely understands why this Kimiko doesn’t want anything to do with this crazy asshole, he at least gets why she bothered to look at him twice. Angry Guy is good-looking, but his face is twisted with an expression that gives Matsukawa the chills.

“I just moved in a week ago,” Matsukawa presses, suppressing his urge to flinch when he meets his captor’s eyes. “The place was completely empty, and if someone was living there before, I never met them. When the flowers started popping up, I kept them because they were pretty and because I thought the cute guy down the hall was leaving them. Really, that’s all.”

Angry Guy’s brows furrow. “You mean the bakery guy? The one with reddish-blond hair?” When Matsukawa nods, his eyes widen. “Oh, he’s definitely — you and he — I, um . . .” His face turns bright red. “This is really embarrassing.”

“Does that mean I can go now?” Matsukawa asks hopefully.

Angry Guy starts. “Oh, um, yeah. Sorry, man. I’ll untie you.”

Much grunting and swearing comes from behind Matsukawa as Angry Guy works his bonds loose. A sigh of relief burns Matsukawa’s lungs when the feeling rushes back into his hands. His stitches ache like a bitch, but he ignores this pain as he stands, balls his fist, and crashes it into Angry Guy’s temple.

Matsukawa dodges Angry Guy’s limp body as it drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He looks dolefully at his hand, which is bleeding from the stitches torn by the punch, and dabs it with the edge of his shirt. Before the bleeding starts back up, he uses the length of rope to tie Angry Guy’s hands and feet in such a way that he won’t be chasing anyone.

At last, Matsukawa gets a good look at his surroundings. The vague, shrouded shapes now look more like chairs and tables under dust covers, and the shiny table is a rolling cart that one can find at most any restaurant. So much for a serial killer lair.

There is a staircase on the far wall, and Matsukawa makes his way over to it on wobbly legs and climbs. He emerges in a storeroom, and the labels on the boxes confirm that it is, indeed, the back of a restaurant. Nearby, there is a fire exit door, and he pushes out of it and into an alley.

The cacophony of traffic clamors in his head, making tears spring in his eyes as he focuses on finding someone — anyone — who can call the police. He doesn’t know what Angry Guy had used to knock him out, but it’s doing a number on his equilibrium.

Gripping the bricks of the nearby wall for everything he’s worth, Matsukawa urges himself forward and towards the bustling sidewalk. He manages to exit the alley just in time to fall to his hands and knees and throw up on someone’s shoes.

Esophagus burning, Matsukawa whimpers as he tries to call for help, but whatever he had thrown up only makes it more difficult. “Help,” he wheezes as he collapses onto the pavement.

He hears voices murmuring in the background as a crowd gathers, and a strong arm wraps around his shoulders and helps him to his feet. Matsukawa glances over to see a police officer and can’t believe his luck.

“There’s this . . . crazy guy . . . restaurant basement.”

The officer nods and relays this information over his radio before saying, “We’ll find him. Now, let’s get you to the hospital.”

Matsukawa doesn’t remember much of his ride in the police car other than being handed a paper bag when he feels close to throwing up again. The next thing he recalls is waking up in a cool, dark room in a bed that is not his own.

“You still with us, buddy?” Iwaizumi’s voice is the clearest thing Matsukawa has heard in hours.

“Fuck my life,” Matsukawa mutters as he tries to lift his hand, only to find he doesn’t have the energy. “Where are we?”

A callused hand strokes his cheek. “You’re in the hospital, Mattsun,” Oikawa says, his face coming into focus. “The guy they arrested — did he really tie you up in a basement?”

Matsukawa chortles, only to regret the action when his head feels like it’s been punched. “Unfortunately.”

Oikawa’s laugh rings loudly in the small room. “I can’t believe that _actually_ happened to you. Any idea who he was?”

“Yeah. Jealous boyfriend of the girl who used to live in my unit. He thought I was holed up with her and wanted to scare me away.” Matsukawa groans at the memory of the bizarre incident. “When I told him I —”

He stops mid-sentence as he marks one glaring absence in the room. “Has anyone heard from Hanamaki?”

Iwaizumi nods. “He’s still at the station giving a statement. They practically had to tear him away from you.” His long-time friend gives him a crooked smile. “Anything you want to share?”

Matsukawa feels his cheeks grow warm. “He’s nice, and kind of cute. And I think I really like him.”

Grinning, Oikawa pats Matsukawa’s non-injured hand. “We talked to him for a couple of minutes, and Oikawa-san gives his full approval of Makki-chan.”

“Oh, now that’s just the deciding factor, now isn’t it?” Iwaizumi sneers. “Oikawa, just leave him alone. He has enough to deal with; he doesn’t need you butting into his personal matters.”

Oikawa sticks out his lower lip. “He’s our friend, Iwa-chan. We can’t let him fall prey to some insane person like he did today.”

The tone of Oikawa’s voice is forcibly pouty, but Matsukawa doesn’t miss the undertone of genuine worry. “Oikawa, I’m okay. That’s what matters. I just really wanted to make sure Hanamaki knew I was all right. The rest of that stuff can wait until I can open my eyes all the way.”

A white-coated doctor comes in and gives him a little wave. “Matsukawa-kun, how are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” Matsukawa replies baldly. “Alive and improving, but pretty gross and horrible.”

The doctor nods. “That’s to be expected. You were dosed with a cocktail of industrial cleaner and refrigerant.” He names the substances, but Matsukawa forgets them as soon as he hears them. “We pumped your stomach, and you should be fine in due course. We’ll keep you overnight for observation, but you can go home tomorrow if you progress well enough.”

“Thank you, Doctor Shinohada,” Iwaizumi says as he bows. “We appreciate you taking such good care of our friend.”

Shinohada smiles but shakes his head. “The real thanks goes to the young man who had police out looking for Matsukawa-kun in the first place. If they hadn’t found him so early, the poison could have done a lot more damage.”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa share a look before turning back to Matsukawa. “We’ll leave you to rest, Mattsun,” Oikawa says. “We’ll be back in the morning to take you home if you’re able.”

“Thanks, guys,” Matsukawa says, warmth blooming in his chest as he regards his two best friends. But as they’re about to leave, he calls, “Iwaizumi?”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi turns and raises a brow.

“Do my parents know?”

Iwaizumi bites his lip and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. We forgot because we were so worried about you. I should’ve thought of it.” He tugs at his short hair and growls. “I feel terrible.”

Matsukawa gives him a weak smile. “It’s fine. I’m glad they haven’t been needlessly worried. But can you give them a call and let them know what happened, but that I’m okay?”

“Sure.” He gives Matsukawa a guilty smile and a thumbs up.

As his friends leave, he can hear Oikawa complaining, “Why didn’t he ask me?”

“Because you’re a drama queen. Dumbass,” Iwaizumi hisses.

They continue to bicker as their voices fade, and it brings a genuine smile to Matsukawa’s face. “Those guys sure know how to ward away peace and quiet.”

Shinohada chuckles. “That they do. They’re good boys, though. They’ve been here since you were admitted and wanted to stay with you even while you were unconscious.”

Matsukawa sighs and leans back into his pillow as his eyes drift closed. “Thanks for letting them hang around.”

The doctor excuses himself, and Matsukawa falls back asleep in minutes.

 

This time, when Matsukawa awakens, his head is clearer and his throat no longer feels the lingering effects of vomiting poison. The light of dawn trickles through generic curtains and sweeps over the huddled figure at his bedside, whose face is buried in the crook of his elbow.

“Hanamaki,” Matsukawa says softly, his lips tugging upward of their own accord. “Takahiro.”

Bleary eyes look up at him, red and swollen, and Matsukawa’s heart stutters. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Hanamaki squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I was so scared. I realized what was going on after I saw the flowers and remembered Kimiko-chan’s psycho ex-boyfriend used to buy those for her after they would fight. I wanted to tell you to be careful, but I thought I was just overreacting. Then you didn’t return my calls when I decided to check up on you during my break and my lunch. My boss told me to go take care of it or I was useless to her.”

“So the dragon lady has a soul after all,” Matsukawa remarks, hoping the detour will soothe Hanamaki’s needlessly harrowed conscience. “See, I told you she can’t be all bad.”

“You didn’t hear her voice on the phone when I called in for the day,” Hanamaki grumbles. “I think she’s going to emasculate me when I get back.”

Matsukawa snorts. “She better not. I might want those later.”

A coughing fit overtakes Hanamaki. “What?”

“I like you, Hanamaki-kun,” Matsukawa says without preamble. “I like spending time with you, and one of these days, I’m going to get a real kiss out of you. Maybe not now with this split lip,” he adds with a shrug, “but I’m willing if you are.”

Hanamaki is gaping at him. “Even after my negligence almost got you killed?”

Scratching his head, Matsukawa says, “That’s not what I heard. The doctor told me that if you hadn’t called the police when you did, I might not still be here.”

“How did you —”

Matsukawa briefs Hanamaki on his earlier conversation with his doctor and friends before adding, “They wouldn’t have asked you for a statement unless you had something to do with tipping them off. So it had to be you.”

Hanamaki sighs. “After you didn’t call or text me back at lunch, I called Yugi-chan and Haru-chan to go check on you.” At Matsukawa’s puzzled look, Hanamaki supplies, “They’re police officers. My shop gives free coffee and pastries to on-duty officers. I know most of them by name.

“They went to check on you after I explained the situation, and one of your neighbors saw you leave around nine but you didn’t answer your door. The super let them in to check on you, but you were gone. Your phone was still there, and there was a fresh flower on the kotatsu. That’s when they started looking for you in earnest.”

Jaw slack with surprise, Matsukawa stammered, “Th-thank you. I-I don’t know what to s-say.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Hanamaki sighs heavily. “I know I’ll sleep better knowing they confiscated the key to our building the guy still had.”

“That explains a lot,” Matsukawa mused aloud before something else occurred to him. “Does this Kimiko know anything about it?”

Hanamaki laughs until he has to swipe tears from his cheeks. “Oh my god, I almost forgot.” When his amusement dies down, he explains, “She was actually on the way to see the super to sign some paperwork about her moving out, and she was actually walking by as they dragged the guy out of the restaurant basement, all tied up and shouting all sorts of insane stuff. She just stomped over and started _wailing_ on him with her purse until she had to be restrained.”

“Good. Asshole.” Matsukawa nods in appreciation of Kimiko, whose lapse of judgment for dating Angry Guy he is beginning to forgive very quickly. “I’m just glad you’re as gay as you are, or I’d be a dead man.”

When Hanamaki gives him a strange look, Matsukawa chuckles. “I told Angry Guy — that’s what I called him — that I was dating you because he thought I was holed up with Kimiko. He remembered you pretty well, and when he figured out I probably wasn’t Kimiko’s type, he untied me. Then I punched him in the face, tied him up, and ran for it.”

Hanamaki stills and gapes at Matsukawa. When he doesn’t respond, Matsukawa asks, “What?”

“You said we were dating?”

“Yeah. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” His hands fiddle with the hem of his blanket. “I hope, anyway.”

The answer is not what Matsukawa had expected, but he enjoys it anyway as Hanamaki crushes their mouths together for a long, searing kiss. The cut on his lip throbs, but he doesn’t care because Hanamaki has a talented mouth that Matsukawa presently doesn’t want to leave his person unless for an emergency.

When their lips finally do part, both of them are out of breath. “Wow,” Matsukawa gasps. “You are an excellent kisser, just so you know.”

“Not so bad yourself, Mattsun.” Hanamaki gives him a leering smile. “How about we never stop doing that?”

“I like that idea. Ten out of ten for great thinking.” Matsukawa wags his brows. “But maybe not in front of Iwaizumi and Oikawa. They’re picking me up later.”

Hanamaki nibbles his lower lip as he thinks, and Matsukawa is almost too distracted to hear what he says. “Maybe we should. They’re the sexually charged ones, right?” At Matsukawa’s nod, Hanamaki rubs his hands together. “Maybe if we just straight up porn all over them, they’ll —”

“And then Iwaizumi will promptly blame me for being stuck with Oikawa forever. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment.”

“Mmm,” Hanamaki purrs as his lips brush Matsukawa’s. “I think I can be of service. I’m an excellent wingman.”

Matsukawa feels heat flood his body as Hanamaki’s breath skims over his skin. “I think we can make this thing work.”

“They’ll never see it coming.”

This time, Matsukawa tugs Hanamaki on top of him, neither noticing or caring about his freshly stitched and bandaged hand as he thrusts his fingers into Hanamaki’s hair.

Once they exhaust themselves, Hanamaki settles next to Matsukawa and they both fall back asleep, neither noticing nor caring about the occasional disapproving nurse coming in to monitor vitals.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa find them like this four hours later, to absolutely no one’s surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. Weird and fluffy, with a touch of angst and sass. Thanks for reading!


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